


practice makes imperfect

by wintermadethissoldier



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, M/M, No homo but also FULL HOMO, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Practice Kissing, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Teenagers, a little steamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 15:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermadethissoldier/pseuds/wintermadethissoldier
Summary: the one where bucky learns that steve's never kissed a girl and insists he has to practice, preferably, with bucky. 17 is an age bucky will never forget.





	practice makes imperfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpiderNovna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderNovna/gifts).



> this is just a short little one-shot i wanted to write for the love of my life

Steve’s almost done cleaning up his sketch when he hears the apartment door open, the tell-tale thump of heavy boots against creaky wood.

“James _Buchanan_ Barnes.” Steve chides, his pen not leaving the paper. “Are you dragging mud all over the floors I _just cleaned_?” He hears the footsteps stop, a muffled curse and another thump.

“No.” Bucky calls from the door, furiously untying his shoes and trying to wipe the mud off with the mat.

Steve made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, dipping the pen in ink before starting in on another line. “How was work?”

Bucky grunts, opening the fridge and rooting around for milk. “It was work. They got us doin’ more shit than I signed up for, though.” He pulls out the glass, drinking it straight from the bottle and hoping Steve is too distracted to notice. He rubs his shoulders, tight and sore after a day of hauling cargo to and from boats as they came into port. It paid enough to keep their small apartment they gotten together after Sarah died, but the Depression meant that his boss could do virtually whatever he wanted and knew that none of them could afford to quit.

“You’re lucky to have a job at all, you know that. I hear they’re hiring muralists for the WPA now that the New Deal’s gone through. I was thinking I could apply and we’d have something a little more steady.” So far, Steve’s contributions had been solely through selling his art, though there weren’t a lot of people that were willing to buy art in 1934; people barely had enough money to eat.

“I told you, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you out there in the sun gettin’ sick or something. That’s the last thing you need.” Bucky caps the bottle and shoves it back into the fridge, walking over to where Steve it working. “What are you working on?”

Steve jumps, too engrossed in making sure the ink didn’t run on his crisp lines that he didn’t realize Bucky was behind him. He makes a mad dash to cover it, almost spilling his entire inkwell in the process.

“Jumpy? C’mon, Stevie, what’re you drawing?” Bucky smirks, pulling the sheet of paper out of Steve’s hands and giving it a once over. He whistles lowly, his grin turning almost feral as he turns it on Steve. “Steven Grant _Rogers_. You’re painting _nude_ portraits of women now?”

Steve’s face feels like it’s on fire and he buries it in his hands to avoid looking at Bucky. “It’s for _class_. We’re doing anatomy right now and they brought in a...model.” He squeaks out. “Please put it down.”

“She’s a looker. The hips on her…” He trails off, looking up from the drawing. “You should ask her out.”

Steve’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and mortified. “Ask her _out_? Bucky, she’s well into her twenties and definitely isn’t going to go for the kid who can barely see over his easel.”

Bucky shrugs, setting down the drawing and drumming his fingers against Steve’s little desk. “C’mon, just turn on the ol’ Rogers charm.” Despite the fact that Bucky is the one that suggested it, a flash of jealousy bolts through him. Maybe he’s doing this to punish himself for his feelings, the way he isn’t attracted to the woman on the paper—or women in general—like he should be. But he knows she’s got the body that every boy in the country longs for, and he plays his part well. Still, he can’t help but feel like punching a wall just a little bit at the thought of Steve kissing someone else.

Steve snags the drawing from him, shoving it into a folder before he could be tortured with it much longer. “I don’t have _charm_. I haven’t–” He stutters, shaking his head and turning even pinker at the ears. “I haven’t even held a girl’s _hand_ , let alone done somethin’ like a date.”

Something in Bucky’s brain perks up at that, the barest hint of an idea at the edge of his consciousness. “C’mon, Stevie. You’ve kissed girls at the dance hall before, haven’t you? Don’t tell me all those double dates I took you on were for nothin’.” He drawls, sounding disappointed when in reality, his heart is racing in his chest.

Steve doesn’t meet his eyes, just fiddles with the pen between his fingers. “I know you’ve got all these dames goin’ crazy for you, but girls don’t wanna dance with a guy they’re afraid to step on.” His voice is small, somewhere between ashamed and vulnerable. It breaks Bucky’s heart, even though he has finally come to accept the fact that he wants Steve all to himself. But there’s a part of him that wants the rest of the world to see Steve through his eyes, see past his slight frame to see the biggest heart the world’s ever seen. He’s mad nobody else sees it—the sea-blue color of his eyes, the way his eyelashes almost look like a girl’s they’re so long, or the way he scrunches up his nose when he laughs. Bucky knows he should feel disgusted with himself—sometimes it actually works, on the nights he wakes up with a stiff cock and he ends up throwing up in the toilet instead of finishing himself off to the thought of Steve—but the crooked smile Steve gives only him, the bright sound of his laughter override everything negative he could feel about this.

“C’mon, they don’t know what they’re missing.” He nudges Steve’s shoulder, wishing he’d look at him again.

“I haven’t even kissed anyone.” Steve admits quietly, starting hard at the grain of the wood in front of him like it’ll start revealing answers. “Nobody wants to date a guy that doesn’t even know how to kiss.”

The confirmation almost punches the breath out of Bucky—he had hoped, of course, but now that it was actually confirmed, he could barely keep his breathing regular. The idea that started in his brain starts coming together, a hazy shape that Bucky can almost drag into a half-baked idea. He might be just desperate enough, stupid enough to try. He opens his mouth, the words rushing out before he can pull them back.

“You just need practice, that’s all.”

Steve finally looks at him, a crease in-between his brows as he squints at Bucky. “Practice? Bucky, I am _not_ going to buy a- a prostitute, if that’s what you’re insinuating. Women aren’t just _toys_ to use.” He’s still blushing, but his eyes have that angry spark in him, the one he always gets when he hears about what’s happening in Germany or sees someone being robbed in an alley. Bucky usually loves it, but it’s terrifying when it’s turned on him.

“Jeez, Stevie, I didn’t mean _that_.” He sighs, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. Was he stupid enough to just come right out and say it?

“I was gonna say that you could practice with me.”

Yes. Yes he was.

Steve just stares at him, visibly trying to process what Bucky just said. “What?” He finally gets out, blinking at Bucky like he’s seeing him for the first time. It isn’t running and screaming, which Bucky takes as a win. He steels himself again, trying to seem as nonchalant as he possibly can.

“I mean, who else’re you gonna practice with? If you wanna show a gal one day that you really know what you’re doing, you need to be convincing.” He sounds like he knows what he’s talking about, but inwardly Bucky is panicking, throwing out words faster than he can think. He shrugs, a forced casual gesture that makes him cringe inwardly. “It’s just practice. ‘s not like we’re fairies.”

Steve’s still beet red, his mind racing a million miles a minute. His best friend wants to practice kissing, with him. He’s never heard of that before, but some part of his brain wants him to ask, “why not?”. After all, it’s Bucky—the person he trusts most in this world, the guy who works enough for the both of them to keep a roof over their heads and put food on the table. It’s the guy who moved out of his folks’ house so that Steve wouldn’t have to live alone, never even giving it a second thought. He supposes that perhaps if there’s anyone in this world that he trusts enough to practice _kissing_ of all things, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Still, the idea scares the shit out of him.

Steve likes girls. He knows this for a fact, though he hasn’t had any chance to act on it. Even if the girls don’t notice him, he notices them. He notices things about guys, too, but he always shoves those thoughts down. He’s always told himself that it’s just his artistic eye picking up the planes of Bucky’s sharp cheekbones, or the muscles of the men down at the docks. He has to pay attention to anatomy, after all, and he’s always had an eye for objectively aesthetically-pleasing things. Some men—their _features_ —fit that bill. That’s all.

He isn’t that way. He isn’t a fairy. But neither is Bucky, so that makes it better, doesn’t it? It’s just his best friend helping him out with something, just like he helps with hanging the laundry when Steve can’t reach the lines, or trying to fix his radio. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself nodding, figuring if Bucky is so casual about this that it can’t be a big deal. If Steve makes it into a big deal, he’ll just seem silly and like he’s overreacting. If Bucky is this relaxed, then Steve figures it can’t mean anything past exactly what it is: practice.

“Yeah?” Bucky tries to sound nonchalant, but it comes out breathy.

Steve mirrors Bucky’s shrug, turning in his chair to face Bucky. “I- I think that girl is pretty. The model.” Steve confesses, forcing himself to not look away at Bucky. This is about practice for girls, he reminds himself. It’s all for girls. “And if I ever get the guts to ask her out, I don’t want to be unprepared.”

Bucky thinks Steve looks like he’s going into war, his posture rigid and shoulders almost up to his ears in the defensive pose so familiar it’s like home. But Steve is agreeing, actually fucking _agreeing_ to something that Bucky has wanted for years but has never in a million years thought he would get. Maybe he’s dreaming. He doesn’t want to break the spell, to wake up.

“Okay, so the first thing you gotta do is to get her somewhere where you’re sitting down, probably. You’re most likely going to be shorter than her—sorry, pal—and you aren’t going to want to try and reach up to her. Girls like when you’ve got the upper hand, when you take charge.” Bucky launches into his lesson to cover the anxiety he hopes Steve can’t see, to barrel forward before either of them chickens out.

Steve nods, frowning a little. “So like a couch?”

Bucky nods, his eyes involuntarily flicking to their own couch. “Yeah, that’ll work. A bench, chairs—hell, a bed.” He adds, unable to keep the smirk off of his face as he walks over to the couch and sits, looking far more confident than he’s feeling. Heat rises in Steve’s cheeks as he narrows his eyes at Bucky, but he follows him to the couch nonetheless. He wonders if Bucky notices the way his hands are shaking, ever so slightly. His chest feels tight, like when he’s having an asthma attack and it feels like he’s breathing through a straw.

“Okay, so don’t kiss ‘em while standing.” He repeats, nodding to indicate that Bucky should move on.

“Alright, so you gotta be the one to make the first move; like I said, girls love that. So you gotta lean in,” Bucky follows his own instructions, halving the distance between him and Steve. “And make sure you look at her lips. She’ll get the idea.”

 _Good_ , Steve thinks, since his eyes were already fixated on the way Bucky’s mouth was slightly parted and heading towards him.

“You’re gonna want to cup her face, too.” Bucky demonstrates, bringing a hand he hopes doesn’t shake and cupping Steve’s cheek. He runs his thumb over the cheekbone without thinking, marveling at how soft Steve’s skin is and how he’s had this dream about a million times before. It feels all so much more real and so much better.

“Stop.” Steve says, shattering the spell and tension between them like crystal. Bucky draws back immediately, already starting to curse a blue streak at himself in his head. But Steve doesn’t look away from him, just swallows like he’s preparing himself before speaking. “Let me do it. I can’t practice if I’m the–” He pauses, swallowing again. “If I’m the girl.”

Bucky feels like perhaps his brain has short-circuited but he’s got enough brain power to nod, sitting back hard on the cushion. “Yeah, okay.” He says dumbly, his eyes wide as Steve copies his earlier move. He leans in, his eyes flicking down to Bucky’s lips in a way that made Bucky think he was going to have a heart attack right there in their shitty Brooklyn apartment.

“Like this?” Steve breathes, cupping Bucky’s cheek and running his thumb along the cheekbone and the rough stubble that’s grown in since he shaved this morning. Bucky can’t speak, just nods and tries not to breathe and scare Steve off. “What next?” Steve asks and Bucky almost forgets he’s supposed to be teaching him how to kiss, his mind up in the clouds.

“Well then, you gotta go the rest of the way and kiss her. Soft at first, then you can go harder if you want. Don’t kiss her with your lips closed like a grandma—part them a little. It’ll come naturally eventually, it’s just...well, it’s kissing.” Bucky deadpans, his brain running out of power at Steve so close, his hand on his face and his lips so close to his own.

Steve waits for a few pregnant pauses, both of them knowing that this is their last chance to back out, to laugh it off and pretend it never happened. But Steve notices that the bow of Bucky’s lips is perfectly formed and his lips curve up at the edges and they’re quite pink for a boy’s and he wants to see what they feel like, what they taste like.

For practice, obviously.

Before he waits too long and chickens out, he goes for it, leaning towards Bucky the rest of the way and pressing his lips against Bucky’s. They’re softer than he expected and a confusing bolt of pleasure shoots down his spine when Bucky’s lips part against his with a soft sigh. Bucky, for his part, is sure he’s gone to heaven and died. He doesn’t understand how something that feels so perfect, so right, so _good_ could be considered immoral, a sin, a punishable offense. It feels like flying and he almost forgets how to breathe, trying to lead Steve. He pushes back against him, tilting his head to the side so he can kiss him deeper. Steve’s lips part against his, moving cautiously against Bucky’s as he figures the rhythm of it all.

Bucky runs his tongue along Steve’s lower lip in a moment of inspiration, the involuntary breathy moan that comes out of Steve going straight to his groin. He’s already hard and straining against his slacks, completely undone by Steve in a way that no girl has ever made him do. He wants more than anything to take Steve’s face between his hands, guide him back on to the couch, and kiss him like he needs it to stay alive. But the logical part of his brain is annoyingly still somewhat in charge and he knows that it will only freak Steve out, that this is just practice to him, that he’s just teaching Steve how to kiss for someone else.

Steve eventually pulls back, his pupils blown in mirror to Bucky’s and staring at him in a mixture of awe and terror. He doesn’t want to think about how every move against Bucky’s lips went straight south, his erection painfully obvious and uncomfortable. He blames it on how he’s supposed to be practicing for a girl, the unspoken assumption that they are pretending that he other is a dame as they close their eyes and press their lips together. Bucky stares back at him, holding his breath and looking both ruined and terrified.

“Was that okay?” Steve asks, his voice far higher and breathier than he would have liked it to be.

“That was perfect.” Bucky says softly, looking at Steve like he’s just discovered a cave full of gold. “But I think you need more practice.”

Steve’s leaning in again before he realizes what he’s doing, trying to find the right pressure and tilt of his head. He chances copying Bucky’s move and running his tongue over his lower lip, the entire thing far different than he expected but entirely worth it when Bucky practically melts beneath him. He feels Bucky shift against him and he pulls back to see Bucky’s hands in fists, trying not to touch Steve, to hold him, to run his hands over every part of his body like he’s always wanted to. And unless Steve is imagining things, Bucky is just as excited about this as he is.

He flicks his gaze back up to Bucky, who looks absolutely wrecked, almost at the edge of tears. “Stevie,” He starts, his voice raw. “You gotta stop. I can’t– I won’t be able to stop if you keep going.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his whole body taut and visibly straining with the effort to restrain himself. Steve realizes that he doesn’t want Bucky to stop. His lips feel cold and strangely empty now and he wants more, wants Bucky to show him everything. And he realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t want this for practice for someone else. He wants this for himself and for Bucky, for the boy that’s been on his side against the world since they were kids, for the boy that comes and fishes him out of fights Steve can’t finish, the boy who brings him fresh fruit he stole off of the boats, who stays by his bedside and feeds him soup when he’s sick. For the boy that’s believed in him more than anyone living and who Steve loves with his whole heart, but maybe that love means something different now.

So he leans forward and kisses Bucky as way of response.

Bucky feels something snap inside of him, a taut cord that he had been trying to stretch for far too long. He doesn’t care about the implications of this when it’s all over, of the awkwardness and the drama and the fact that they can’t avoid each other when they sleep in the bed ( _Christ, they’re going to sleep in the same bed tonight_ ). He just knows that Steve willingly kissed him when he warned him that he wouldn’t be able to stop, and now that he’s been given permission, it’s like a tidal wave is unleashed. One hand’s already in Steve’s hair, his fingers tangling and pushing him closer to him; his other hand is on Steve’s hip, on his waist, running down his arm and back up again. He feels drunk—better than drunk—on it all, his mind a chant of nothing but _Steve Steve Steve Steve_. He wants this, is tired of denying himself the reality of that; he wants this, he’s wanted this for years, and he is going to want this after the night is over. He will want Steve until the day he’s in the grave, will never be satisfied with anything but how they are right now—Bucky pulling Steve on top of him and feeling his cock against his thigh and knowing that Steve wants this just as bad as he does.

He wants this forever.

He bites Steve’s lower lip and the resulting moan from Steve is so heavenly and filthy that Bucky thinks he might come in his pants, right here. He’s hungry for Steve, desperate for him, and he can’t keep his hands from roaming over his back, his waist, skating over his ass and causing Steve to buck against him in a way that makes Bucky feel like he’s died and gone to heaven. He doesn’t even realize that he’s been murmuring Steve’s name over and over against his lips until Steve pulls back the slightest fraction, searching Bucky’s eyes.

“Bucky.” He says, his breathing heavy.

Bucky doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to admit his feelings, doesn’t want to think about the legal and moral implications of this, just knows that he will die of want if he doesn’t have Steve against him.

Whatever Steve was going to say is cut off by Bucky’s lips, hard and desperate against Steve’s.

Steve forgets what he was even going to say.

**Author's Note:**

> comments water my crops and keep me fed through the winter


End file.
